Photographs
by Aidsneedyou
Summary: So who did Hagrid ask for the photographs to Harry? SB/RL


Remus stared at the letter in front of him. The owl had been a surprise for him and he suspected that it was the same for several of the other tenants in the buildning. He'd stopped getting the newspaper when they had started reporting about his best friends deaths and imprisonment. There had been as many as fourteen owls trying to get into his window before they stopped coming. Realizing that he would not let them in nor pay. That he would simply sit there. Staring at just those photographs that Rubeus was asking for. Trying desperatly to comprehend what had happened.

After a while Minerva had come by to check in on him. They had always been close, and she had done what she could to get him a job in the magical world. Now he probably had to survive in the muggles world for as long as he could, she had told him in that brisk voice. But he had heard the emotions underneath. It hadn't mattered to him at the time. He hadn't plan to live that long. Not with out them. Scaredsly, he had runned one hand over the linen to their bed. Was it only a week ago they had laid there and tried to talk to eachother? And when they couldn't, when everything, trust, happiness, even love, had gone away. Hadn't they laid there promising eachother that everything would be worked out when the war was over?

Oh, Sirius. He looked the box, the one named "Photographs", it was printed over the side with Minervas stern handwriting. Eleven years. Being an outcast and locking out every part about the magical world had made it possible to only having to see his face everytime he closed his eyes. To only see all of them in his nightmares. He had occasionly thought about throwing away all of them. Remus had himself realized that he couldn't do that. For exactly this reason. Some day Harry would want them. And now he did. It had gone eleven years and he was a grown man and now he would brace himself and look at the pictures of his dead loved ones and one traitor.

Remus managed to open the box before he had to go and throw up. It hadn't been as hard to take it upstairs from the basement but one look at the books and just knowing what they contained. He was unsure if Rubeus had enough photographs already. Maybe he should ask before he went through with this.

"Don't be such a chicken, Moony!" All three voices at the same time. Always whenever they wanted him to do something he knew they shouldn't. Something he knew would come back to hurt him. They never saw it like that. Harmless pranks, come on now Moony, don't be such a bore, joykiller, CHICKEN. Chicken had been Sirius favorite, he had found it hilarious that, apparently, a werewolfs inner animal was a chicken.

While he spitted in the sink to get rid of the vomit he considered asking Minerva. But Minerva had started being so proud of him. Talking about getting him a job on Hogwarts, now that he was starting to put all of this behind him. It had taken him a year to move from her quarters at Hogwarts to his own apartment. Most of the Hogwarts staff had been saving up for him, all remembering one of the brightest students they ever had the joy of teaching. When he moved to this apartment he was currently living in, he still hadn't unpacked one single box. It hadn't mattered. Everyone looked after him, but he had been forced into taking a job. He had been lucky, the library was close and filled with nice old people. His life was now full with people that was atleast forty. And he was content. Remus had started to live. He was even trying to save up to somehow manage to get the custody of one Harry Potter. Everything had been going so good. As good something can be when you lived through a war and seen everyone you love be taken away. Killed. To live with their aunt. Imprisoned.

Remus gave the box a look and decided to try to be a Gryffindor. He slowly sat down next to it and drew a few calming breaths. Unfortunatly a bit to close to the dusty box and the session had to be cancelled due to a vigorious coughing attack. Remus thanked the gods he didn't believe in that he wasn't religious, in that case he would have seen it as a sign and carried the damn box down again.

"No, cold logic was always more you, right Moons?" Peters bright blue eyes looked up at fifteen year old Remus from where he was kneeling in front of his bed. Which he had been occupying while Peter was praying.

"I wouldn't know about that, but praying will I probably never understand." Remus had laughed while Peter got up.

"Oh? That wasn't what I heard last night! There seemed to be an awful lot of God-calling in that bed of yours." The flashback ebbed out to the sound of their laughing and Remus' blushing. Remus made it so. He couldn't bring himself to think about the nights he then had shared with the Traitor. Another thought when through his head, one he have had before. Simply throwing away all the pictures that had beautiful, laughing, young non-traitor Sirius in them. But everytime he thought about it, he saw exactly that. Just thinking about going through this pictures was enough to make his head spin and, he was ashamed to admit, after all these years he still hoped that it would be proven to be some mistake. That suddenly everything would go back to normal and he could have the pictures in bookshelf and on the walls.

This time he had time to see two pictures before he ran to the toilet again. Still clutching one of them securerly in his hand. The first had been the Potter wedding. Remus had smiled, thinking that Harry surerly would appreciate it. Then he had seen the other. It was on the dance, just a few seconds after the ceremony had ended. The wedding waltz. Lily and James was alone in the strobe light. Remus had been transfixed by the sheer love that was reflected in their dance, in the way they held eachother that he didn't even notice when the older Potters and Evans began to dance around them. When a tall, longhaired man laughingly pushed himself forward, dragging a twenty year old version of himself onto the dancefloor, he noticed however. It was when they had playfully tried to decide who should be the man and who should be the woman he once again lay over the toilet trying to breath slowly. But he didn't vomit this time. The only thing landing in the water was his tears.

He felt ashamed. Ashamed that he'd tried to forget how much they to had loved eachother before everything. Remus tried telling himself that it was in self-defence. That he had to learn how to live, and living meant forgetting the things that had meant the world to him. He ran to the box again, and photograph by photograph he relished in the feeling of being loved again.

Here, a picture of him and Sirius in a couch. Sirius was sleeping and Remus was slowly running his hand through his long and smooth hair. He could remember that. How it always felt as smooth as it looked. The Sirius in the picture woke up, purred himself deeper in my own embrace and whisper "Don't stop.". Real life Remus whispers it at the same time as Sirius mouths it and hears in the echo how alone his apartment is. He gets up. He's still holding the picture and is thinking about setting it on fire. At the same time he realizes that he can't. He can't throw away the remains of the man he loves.

There, a picture of all five of them, when Lily finally had become part of their group. Peter stands in the middle of the two pairs and seems to be so very alone. Remus looks at him and feels his heart ache. How he wishes he could get his past self to lay his arm around Peter as well, and not just cling to Sirius. Or that at least James or Lily could see his loneliness. Peter, who later sacrified himself for them. He sinks deeper in despair when he sees Peter go away from the portrait and none of them even seems to realize it. And feels in his heart that it was that way it had been and he had been the happiest werewolf in the world. Even if he could he wouldn't truly want his past – self to go after Peter. Too selfish. He wanted at least some version of him to be happy.

A picture of baby Harry, flying in the hands of a man. Sirius', he realizes. He would recognize them anywhere. Would recognize their touch on his skin without a moment of doubt. After all, he still feels them every night. Only they are never as tender as these hands, being so careful and still careless, throwing baby Harry up in the air to securerly catch him again. He adds that photo to the pile to Harry. He would never know it wasn't his father that was playing with him, and Remus NEEDED to have some picture of Sirius in that pile. Harry needed to know that he had loved them. He had to have loved them once. He had to have loved him once. Because, as Remus looks at the pictures around him, the pictures filled with love and happiness. Because if Sirius had never loved him, then he wouldn't be able to remember the love now. He shouldn't be able to remember his hair or his hands. Remus eyes lands on one portrait of himself. Only him. Until a Sirius, he recognizes him from one of the other photographs but can't remember which one, jumps up and throws himself around him. No more alone Remus. He stares at all the couple pictures. Without knowing he have formed a circle around himself, a protective circle of Siriuses and Remuses that loves eachother, unconditionally. And he breaks down and cries hot tears over the only single picture of himself that he has found, because suddenly there's an alone James Potter on a table next to him and the only alone Remus is himself.


End file.
